


The Deadly Series - Book I - Deadly Lips

by andrescutieri



Series: The Deadly Series [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, F/F, F/M, Hogwarts First Year
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-10
Updated: 2015-11-10
Packaged: 2018-04-30 23:35:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5183951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andrescutieri/pseuds/andrescutieri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Hermione Granger, age 12, tries to cover a slight mistake, she's caught in a world of danger and deceit, where poisonous children fight each other with weapons and wit, while learning to become spies and murderers, and where a green-eyed boy haunt her dreams. There's a new class at Hogwarts this year. Can this strange school turn little Hermione into world's best assassin?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A truly sad affair

It was a lazy Thursday, and Hermione did not have coins for the payphone. The boys had been bullying her again, hiding her things and dumping her backpack in a muddy puddle just outside school grounds. That horrible Amanda Worthby had started the laughing, when they shoved her into the mud while she desperately tried to save her books from being ruined. The drizzle that had been coming and going all summer had finally chased off the kids, leaving her alone, wet and crying.

She knew her things wouldn't survive the abuse from both the rain and the mud bath. Her precious books would be waterlogged again. Even the library book she had just loaned, remembered her with a shiver. It was her last chance, the librarian had told her. She would be banned from the library forever if she brought back another damaged book.

To add insult to injury, she did't have change. Her pocket money had just been "confiscated" by those savage beasts. Her parents would still be at their dentistry, counting on her to catch the bus out any problems. Now that her money was gone, taking it was no longer an option, as was a simple call to her mom to pick her up.

She shivered lightly, her white uniform blouse feeling heavy and cold and gross against her skin. Hermione walked to the lonely telephone booth covered in  _graffiti_  as always, and took the phone off the hook. With a single glance through the cracked glass, she started clicking the hook. Counting the clicks in her head, she rapidly "dialled" the dentistry number, praying for it to work. She never tried that outside her home, as getting caught  _switch-hooking_  would not look good on her record, right under "destroying public property", as her librarian would surely claim.

She was lucky, for a change. The old payphone was a keypad-locking model. After coins were inserted, it would unlock the keys for the user to dial the phone number. By bypassing the keypad, using the phone hook clicks to simulate keypad pulses, she could call home even without change in her pockets. When her mother's warm voice finally answered, she almost cried in relief.

The girl ended the call and searched for cover from the rain. Hermione waited for some while under an awning in front of the flower shop, wishing her mother would arrive shortly. She was really cold, her soaked shoes numbed her feet, and the wet shirt made her skin blossom with goosebumps. Her eyes stung with unshed tears, while her tall, bushy hair became sleek as it was drenched with rain water. It felt heavy on her head and clung to her face.

Hermione considered herself a good girl. She never raised her voice against the others, she would always do her homework and had perfect grades; she liked quiet, girly activities and kept to herself. Reading was her only true passion: she devoured books one after the other, expanding her knowledge at a brisk pace. She even liked sharing what she had learned, tutoring her classmates when prompted by a teacher. But the fact that she answered any question correctly, easely aced any test, and could handle a deep conversation with an adult made her classmates uncomfortable. They belittled her, called her names, spit on her things, ruined her possessions and even physically attacked her, shoving and pushing and manhandling her.

It was a truly sad affair. Hermione had no friends at all, and had been this way for her entire 12 years of life. The other kids thought she was annoying, she knew because they were truly forthcoming at informing it. For the longest time their scorn hurt her almost physically, but she wasn't a little girl anymore. She wouldn't cry because their words stung. There was a strength in her now, like the calloused hands of a laborer. By the time her 12th birthday dawned, Hermione had the callused heart of a bullying target veteran.

Her mother's BMW parked slowly in front of her, the driver window rolling down so her mother's bright brown eyes could sadly look at her.

"Come on in", urged Dr. Emma Granger, forcing a tiny smile through her lips. Hermione felt her heart clench in her chest at her expression. "Let's get you safe and warm, sweetie".

Hermione opened the door and got inside the car with a pained sigh, cradling her muddy backpack so it wouldn't stain the carpet. She kept her eyes averted and gazed out the window, refusing to meet her mother's eyes asa wave of shame rocked her petite body. Warm fingers tangled through her hair, Emma's understanding love sweeping in the girl's very bones, easily taking away the pain and the fear.

She felt truly safe in her mother's beautiful black car, even with muddy shoes. They travelled in silence, no words were needed to explain what had happened to her. The city outskirts came into view through the windshield, a tired smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. The suburbs of Crawley felt like home toHermione and the girl could feel her body finally relax. She closed her eyes, slumping into her seat, ignoring how wet the leather car seat would be after this.

They pulled over in the front of a wide two-story house in a high class neighbourhood. Not for the first time, Hermione thought what her classmates would say if they knew she was, to be frank, loaded. Between her parents' dentistry and her father's keen eye on the stock market, the Granger family was well off. And Hermione was the sole heir of their respectable-sized fortune. But the girl decided long ago her classmates weren't worthy enough to be privy of that information. She even had browbeat her parents to allow her to ride the bus to and from school. While she attended a private school, it wasn't even one of the county top ten, mainly because the Grangers wanted her daughter near them instead of attending a far-away elite school.

She dumped her destroyed bag on the porch, and left her soiled shoes at the entrance. Padding softly on the carpeted floor, the girl ran upstairs, opening her bedroom door and headedstraight inside her private bathroom. She already tossed her wet clothes in the hamper by the time her mother appeared and leaned on the doorframe.

"I think a good bath is in order", she said softly, as she passed her daughter and fiddled with the bathtub taps. "I always feel better after a warm soak".

Hermione nodded quietly, and waited beside Emma for the tub to fill, wearing only her panties. She felt a gentle hand against her back, rubbing in wide circles, comforting her more than any words could. It was times like these that made her feel that life was truly worth living. That, and bookstores.

For the longest time, books were her safe haven. Cracking open a thick tome, curling on the couch and losing herself in the pages, till the ink soaked through her brain, taking her away from her current situation and plunging the girl into new places. That was the main reason she loved history books. But the feeling of discovering something new, the pure understanding of a difficult concept, the vain moment when she could use her knowledge to solve a problem, these things made her feel more alive than any other experience in her short life.

But no book could teach her how to make friends and keep them. God knows she tried to find one. Her parents had said it would come naturally to her, when she found a kindred soul, but time had taught Hermione that kindred souls were nothing but a pipe dream. And after a couple of years, her very books had distanced her from the other kids. A truly sad affair, indeed.

The tub was finally full, and she stripped completely, slipping inside, feeling the almost too hot water work on her cold bones and her tensed muscles. Her mother kneeled behind her, taking the soft bushy curls of her daughter's hair in her hands, before slowly shampooing it, her fingers massaging Hermione's scalp in a way that made the girl close her eyes and sigh softly.

It was during the dinner when the dam finally burst. Daniel Granger, her father, took a bite of pasta, and gave her a small, warm smile, so full of pride and understanding that her silence broke. Fat, lava-hot tears ran down her face, and with a pained sob she pressed her closed fists to her eyes, trying to contain them. With a loud clang, her knife and fork dropped to the floor, and she started to bawl.

Like a baby. After, tucked between her parents in their bed, she felt ashamed about her outburst. She had never,  _never_  cried like that before, even when worst things had happened. Maybe it was the upcoming library expulsion that wrecked her so, but she really couldn't hold it in that time. It was cleansing somehow, like finally letting go of some heavy, cumbersome burden.

Hermione knew there would be a serious discussion the following day. Her parents would, again, discuss schooling alternatives, and would, again, call some friends to ask about elite schools for the gifted, and would, again, broach the subject of home schooling with tutors. But, that moment, feeling her father's strong arms and her mother's soft hands around her, all her problems were far away, and a peaceful sleep finally claimed her.

**{}**

The bell rang at the wrong time. At first, Hermione though it was just an error, but the bell rang again, longer, and more insistent. Then the internal audio system wheezed alive, flaring and crackling over the words, calling every student to her respective class.

The girl wavered between the library doors, where she would pay a hefty sum (parent sent) to cover the destroyed book expenses and would ask, and beg, and probably plead, for the librarian to let her keep her library access. Slumping slightly, she turned back, giving up her mental fortitude to grovel at the librarian's feet. She kept her eyes down, treading fast, almost against the wall, so she wouldn't be noticed by her schoolmates.

She ducked inside the class, walking to her desk, dumping her plastic bag on the floor. It was against the school rules to use something different from a classic bookbag, but hers was in the trash bin at her house, unusable after being dunked in muddy water and the straps ripped off. Her mother had promised they would buy a new one for her the following day, even if Hermione thought it a waste of time and money. Like her last three bookbags.

A stern looking man entered the class instead of her regular teacher. His demeanour spoke of sourness, while his appearance reminded Hermione of a vampire: sickly pale skin, black greasy hair, like frozen tar, dead cold dark eyes, a hook-like nose over thin lips curled in a perpetual sneer; he was tall, thin and fully clad in black and grey clothing. His thick eyebrows raised just a little bit, as he took the class with a cold gaze.

The door opened a little, and the headmistress peeked inside, her eyes widening when she saw the strange man. She gave him a nervous smile.

"Ah! Professor Snape, you are here already", spoke in a somewhat forced cheery tone. "Good, good! I really thought you had gotten lost when you disappeared…".

She trailed off when his dark eyes bored into hers, gulping so loudly even Hermione could hear. To her surprise, none of her classmates smirked or laughed at that. She really couldn't judge them, since she was as scared of the man as everyone else.

The headmistress coughed a little, before she fully entered the class and stood beside the man. She took care not to touch him, while addressing the kids.

"Professor Snape is a teacher at an elite school for the gifted. How it's called, again?".

"Hogwarts", whispered Professor Snape, his silky, low voice carried easily through the whole class. Hermione shivered a little, as there was something dark and dangerous in that voice, like a untold malice hiding behind every syllable.

"Yes, hem, yes! Hogwarts!", the headmistress was really struggling to keep her cheery demeanour, that was for sure. "So, Professor Snape has come today to offer you all a scholarship at Hogwarts. Of course, as this elite school is only for the truly gifted, we will carry a little surprise test right now. If you may, sir".

The man opened a black suitcase he was carrying, taking a pile of paper from it. He started to move, walking swiftly between the rows of desks, dumping some sheets on each. Slow in the uptake, the headmistress hovered a little bit more at the front, before snapping out of it and followed behind the Professor, distributing a thin strip of light green paper.

"These are your answer sheets. Since Hogwarts is applying this same test at all the schools around here, they graciously have lent us a machine to compute all the results automatically. All the questions have four answers under them, only one is correct. On this answer sheet you'll fill the circle with the correct answers' letter, like this".

She raised one of the answer sheets, and pointed the first row with her well-manicured finger. There were four circles aligned, each with a letter inside. The first three were "abc", but the last one, instead of a "d", was completely painted inside, covering the letter.

"You need to wholly fill the circle, using your pen, so the letter doesn't show. Use black or blue ink only. There will be no replacing of smudged, ripped or wrongly filled answer sheets. Take heed you do it properly, as this is your only chance to get a scholarship to Hogwarts".

Hermione received her green strip of paper and gave it a once over. There were 60 numbered rows of circles, below a square where she needed to write her name, age, address and home phone number. Fishing a blue pen from the plastic bag at her feet, she got on it.

After filling her personal information, she flipped over the question sheets, and started to read. Darting her eyes over the first page, she was filled with a sense of wonder.

Maths, geography, geopolitics, physics and even ancient literature and languages were spread in the questions, sometimes with two or three subjects in the same paragraph. It really was a test to find gifted students. Not only that, but the third sheet had a kind of I.Q. test, with small geometric drawings for her to find some sense of. The second sheet had answers in three languages: French, German and Latin.

She got cracking on it after Professor Snape whispered they could start. She had two hours to complete the test, and she made good use of them. The first page was challenging, but the language test was pure struggle. She rapidly caught on that they weren't testing her for foreign language knowledge, but her logical skills applied to the written word. After giving her some tips about grammar and word meaning, the questions asked her to infer word usage or positioning, and to draw parallels between different languages and her own. Whatever and wherever Hogwarts was, Hermione knew right then she wanted in.

After almost 40 minutes spent on the language test, she started the I.Q. one. Had she not been so mentally tired at that moment, she would have noticed the test's layout was intentional. Finding logical patterns between shapes was difficult, but doing it while exhausted was almost impossible. She felt a headache looming in, and her shirt was glued to her back. She hadn't raised her head since the test had begun, but if she had, Hermione would have seen that most of her classmates had already given up. Most of them were simply scribbling away at the test margins, or filling the answer sheet at random, without even glancing at the questions. Only two other students were really giving their all in the test.

Hermione finished the last question with a sigh. She rubbed her hands in her skirt, as her palms were sweaty. She took the answer sheet and started to fill it, slowly painting each correct circle. It was painstakingly boring, but the mindless repetition was soothing after getting her head in overdrive. With a silly snicker, she thought she could almost smell her classmates fried brains.

She filled the 59th question and allowed herself a tired smile. Just four more minutes left, Professor Snape warned, and she shuffled her papers to get the last answer.

But there was none.

With a start, almost as if waking up, she glanced over the question page, and saw she had put a "d" on the last one. The same "d" she had just finished painting on the 59th row. Panicking slightly, Hermione revised her answer sheet from the top, and felt her heart sunk.

In her tired state, she had filled two answers in the third question. The correct answer, "d", and an "a" that should be in the fifth row. Mindlessly, she had just rolled over with it, filling the sixth answer in the fifth row, the seventh in the sixth and so on. Now she had no answer for the last row, and her entire test was nulled.

Any chance of going to this marvellous school that made such challenging test crashed and burned. She felt tired, and more than tired of crying. So she held her tears inside, and gave up. Without even filling the correct answer at the last row, she put her things back at the plastic bag, and silently handed the answer sheet to the headmistress, when it was time to do so.

A commotion at the door made her raise her head, and Hermione saw two teachers arriving with a rolling cart topped with a huge computer like machine. It seemed as if someone had taken a photocopier and mashed it together with a Windows box, topping everything with a green-tinted screen monitor.

After some shuffling with the answer sheets, Professor Snape used a ruler to cut the top part of each strip from the bottom. He gave the headmistress a pointed look, and she coughed again.

"Yes! Ahn, yes! The computing process will happen right now. Each answer sheet has a special code printed at the top and at the bottom. Professor Snape is separating your personal information from your answers…"

And he was efficient. His hands were a blur, cutting each sheet using the ruler as a guide. The two piles grew steadily, and he even could pile them almost perfectly. In less than a minute he was finished, and used his hands to straighten the answers pile.

"Now, Professor Snape will feed the machine with your answers", he unceremonially dumped the answer pile inside an opening at the top of the photocopier half. One of the teachers turned the machine on, black cables trailing on the floor and through the open door, disappearing outside the class. Hermione raised herself a little in her seat, interested at the procedure. Some of her classmates were standing to have a better look.

The green tinted screen came to live, flashing rows and rows of white letters on the vomit-green background. Hermione guessed this was the Operation System starting. Suddenly, a low clank was heard, and the answer pile moved a little, and one of the sheets was sucked into the machine, like her mother's printer would do with blank paper, back at the Dentistry.

A bluish light showed through a crack at the top, the same as a photocopier would do when you don't press down the lid during a copy. The screen showed a number in big letters, followed by and "OK!".

It took almost fifteen minutes, and most of the class lost interest on it during the first three. Even Hermione was a little bored with the repeating pattern of each sheet being swallowed by the machine, the clanking and glowing lighting happening, then some numbers appeared and finally the ok signal.

When the last one was processed, the screen flashed with a long stream of text rapidly rolling upwards, and then became still once again. The teachers turned the machine off and started to pull it back outside, while Professor Snape recovered the personal information cards and put them in his suitcase. The headmistress hemmed.

"The answers are now digitally…", her tongue rolled strangely at the new word. "Digitally stored on our school network. Coming Monday morning they will be sent to Hogwarts for screening. If you are lucky, someone from their staff will contact you during the next week".

The headmistress thanked Professor Snape and showed him the door, while announcing classes would restart shortly. Hermione perked up at that new information. She knew the school network was a primitive thing yet, and most of the archives still need to be converted and inputted into the system. For now, even their report cards were still typed on a typewriter. Even with her father's growing interest for technology and computing, their Dentistry still used handwritten or typed cards to store information, instead the complex computer system. And her test result was floating somewhere in the intranet at that moment.

She ignored the class and went straight to the library. This time she had no need for mental fortitude. She unashamedly grovelled and bribed the librarian to lift her banishment. It took all her considerate allowance, and three new copies of the destroyed book from the day before, bought by her mother just before entering the school, for Hermione to keep her pass.

Then Hermione asked about the computer. Somewhat mollified buy the girl's money, books and tears, the grumpy old lady just gave her a really stern warning about what would happen to the girl's buttocks if she broke the computer, and left Hermione to her own devices.

And her own devices were far from innocent.

Hermione's dad had a true love for computers, but it was unrequited. Simply, while he could buy them and even install them, he couldn't for his life use them. Not that Daniel Granger hadn't tried. He even had taken a beginner's computer course. He had all the books. To no avail, obviously.

But the books where there, the computers where there, and Hermione found all of them truly interesting. To think an inquisitive mind like hers would want to know how they worked was no stretch. And Hermione did know how to use a computer. Also, she knew how to disassemble and assemble it back together. Amongst other things.

Like her trick with phone dialling, Hermione soon found out that the knowledge about how things worked could be used to her advantage. Knowing telephone line frequencies and circuits could allow someone to  _hook-switch_ , bypassing the need to pay for the phone call. She also knew how to use a small whistle at the right tone to make international calls for free. When she started learning about computers at age 8, she soon found out how easily it was to break into another computer from distance, using wired cables. She could make the study room computer control the living room computer using just some commands. It was almost a game for her.

The library computer was an old DOS box, instead of one of the newer Windows PCs. While lacking the graphical interface, it wasn't a real necessity for what Hermione had in mind. No, the true value of this computer was the black cable hooked at its rear, connecting it to the school's internal network.

Hermione started the BASIC interpreter, and cooked up a little program to break into the network and scan it to find the server. From there, it would connect to it and list it's contents.

She screened the multitude of folders and files stored in the server. She was surprised to find they had started to store student's report cards in it. Maybe they would distribute a printed one this year, instead of typing it.

The girl then found what she was looking for. One of the folders was named HG, and she almost had skipped it, before looking at the creation date. Sometime during the previous night, the folder had been created, and the last modification to it was just half an hour ago.

Hermione entered it and found text files, with numbers instead of names. She closed her eyes and pictured her answer sheet in her mind. The same numbers at the top and at the bottom. She opened her eyes and accessed the file named "40295483".

It was really simple, and she thanked God for it. Had it been it obscured by some kind of cryptography, she wouldn't be able to alter it using just the library computer tools. But each line started with a number, followed by an uppercase letter, no spaces.

She saw the third line was empty. This made a sense to her, as that was the question she had mistakenly painted two circles. Taking a peek over her shoulder, Hermione confirmed she was alone, before she started to shift the answers around. Picturing the test in her mind, she reviewed each answer, before correctly completing the third one. She saved it, deleted her breaking in tracks from the logs and disconnected.

After wiping the computer for any trace of her invasion, Hermione ducked out the library, feeling cheerful for the first time that day. The plastic bag she carried in her hands holding her books and school supplies even stopped bothering her.

Maybe, just maybe, Hermione would have a chance at a new school, where the tests where challenging; where people would recognize her for what she was; where she would find a kindred soul; and where the teachers were just gullible enough for her trick to go unnoticed.

She was right about all of these assumptions, except the last one.


	2. Tainted Tea

Hermione's parents had forced her to try a new approach. And, she had to admit, it was working; even if by the wrong reasons. That Saturday, Emma and Daniel had cancelled all their appointments at their dentistry and had taken their daughter to the poshest shopping mall at Crawley. There, they bought everything she needed to replace her damaged school materials, and more.

As Emma loved to say, the hardest one tries to flaunt one's riches, the poorer one are. The Grangers had been respectable well off since Hermione's grandparent's generation, from both sides. Daniel and Emma had only grown the family's fortune, while having the proper education to back their position. They thought it was due time for Hermione to receive such teachings.

She had got a replace for her ruined bookbag, but instead of an off the shelf one, they bought (over Hermione's protests) a limited edition Victor Hugo bag for her, all made in reddish leather and with her name fashionably engraved on the golden clasp. They also got her high branded clothing, like skirts, shirts and Mary Janes. The shirt was customised with the school emblem, and the skirt matched her uniform colour, sneakily replacing the pieces with quality ones without overly changing anything. Even her socks were made of silk now.

Come Monday, there was a subtle difference in Hermione Granger, most of her classmates found out. Maybe not so subtle, as for the first time ever, a BMW parked in front of the school and dropped out a bushy haired girl. When she arrived at her class, word of mouth had already crossed around the entire place, and the kids had trained judging eyes on her.

The finer clothes, giving her a slight difference from the other's uniforms, the simply drool worthy handbag with her shiny new books and name-engraved writing tools, and the tiny real diamonds studded in her ears they could glimpse when her mane of hair moved around, hints to a wealth few of them ever had seem.

They dropped the bullying like hot potato. Hermione had to admit flaunting really worked, but they couldn't just roll over and die, they were still attracted to her, but for a new motive. They wanted to be her friends.

Hermione concluded they weren't being hypocrites. They simple had some kind of short circuit in their brains, that was the only explanation. And probably though she suffered from the same ailment. As if she could simply be chumming with people who had scorned and hated her just a few days prior. It was even sadder than before, for they had hated her for what she was, now they loved her for something her parents were.

Nonetheless, it made life at school a little better. Even when her newfound fans would save her a spot at their table at lunch, even when girls would try to follow her to the loo, even when Amanda Worthby would greet her with air kisses every goddamn morning, Hermione felt life had gotten better.

Everything changed on Friday.

She couldn't take the bus anymore, not with diamond earrings and with a top-brand handbag. So, the Grangers had decided Hermione would wait for them at the school library until the Dentistry's close time. Then, her mother or her father would give her a lift home, and that day was no different. Daniel kissed her forehead and used his right hand to mess up her hair. She laughed, while rolling her eyes at him. Even if it  _was_  endearing, Daniel Granger could be such a  _father_  sometimes.

"So, my little pumpkin", she really cringed at the horrible nickname. She was almost twelve, for God's sake! "How was your day?".

"Normal", she answered laconically, deciding to punish him a little for forbidden endearment. Really, she was six, it was Halloween, who could blame her if she ate so much homemade pumpkin pastries she had tummy ache for three days and could never eat it again without becoming violently ill?

"Normal bad or normal good?", tried him, taking a surreptitious look at her. Probably checking her for bullying signs, the girl concluded. She gave him a somewhat bright smile, instantly forgiving him for his slight.

"Normal better", she answered. "They leave me alone at class now, but still want to become my…  _friends_ ".

"They will give up soon", prophesied him, not taking his eyes from the road. "Happened to your mother and me, you know. When we got into med school, our classmates started sucking up to us. I thank the God your mates aren't old enough for romance yet. Your mother had to beat greedy suitors with a stick", they laughed at it, Hermione imagining her petite, affectionate mother physically attacking men in suits carrying roses bouquets. "It still happens at some parties we go, you know. The sucking-up thing, I mean. There are social climbers everywhere, these days".

Hermione believed him. Not only about the social climbers, but the fact nobody tried to court her mother anymore. At 6'4", Daniel Granger could tower over almost everybody, and he had never stopped his training regimen after leaving the Army. With his bulging arms muscles and big hands, it was fascinating to watch him handle the delicate tools during a dental surgery. He would usually joke that his first time patients would be so nervous to be around him they wouldn't even notice when he'd plunge a needle on their gums.

They stopped at their favourite pizza place, and talked over some juice while they waited. Hermione carried the boxes on her lap during the trip back home, feeling the warmth seep into her legs, chasing off the evening cold. The next Friday would be her last day of school. She hoped the somewhat cold and rainy spring would finally give place to a warm and clear summer. Her parents were talking about a trip to France again that year. With a tinge to her cheeks, she though it would be nice to go to the beach, now that her breasts where starting to develop.

She fiddled with the piece of tape closing the pizza box, while thinking at her father's words. Her classmates still had their brains filled to the brim with football and games, with no interest yet for romance. At least the male ones. But she couldn't help thinking about how would be to have a boyfriend. She knew from her books that she was at the start of puberty, and her interest in love and… Other things… Would increase for the next year. She had already started thinking about kissing and how would it feel.

Just, she couldn't even imagine kissing one of her classmates. Maybe in the future they would grow up and become good people, but she would always remember them as nasty bullies that destroyed her things and belittled her. Closing her eyes and tracing the box contours with her fingers, Hermione thought she needed to change schools, after all. Maybe in another place, now that she had found out a little gold and brand items could hold bulling at bay, she could make some real friends. Find a nice boy that loved books almost as much as she did, and… Well, she had heard about snogging, and had saw some older students doing it. It looked somewhat gross, but she could try it, at least for research purposes.

Her father parked the car in the garage, and opened her door. He shook her arm lightly, and the girl opened her eyes with a start.

"What are you daydreaming about?", asked him. She felt her face heat up to the point of boiling, but kept her mouth shut. Daniel wiggled his eyebrows at her, and she couldn't help but giggle.

"I'm thinking I need a new bikini for the summer", she answered, and then gave him a mischievous smile. "I heard some girls at school talking about something called 'string bikinis', do you know what they are,  _daddy_?".

He squirmed a little, taking the boxes from her. Without looking at his daughter, who was having trouble containing her laughter, finally answered.

"Yes, I know, and I'm forbidding you having one until you're thirty, ok?".

Hermione rolled her eyes at his father's back, entering the house. Her mother was in the kitchen, humming softly while squeezing oranges for juice. She was going upstairs to change her uniform for pyjamas when the doorbell rang. She kept still, a foot hovering above the next step. It was unusual for them to have guests at that hour in weekdays. Maybe it was someone from school, to talk about her money flaunting? She knew some teachers had quietly disapproved her daily entrance, dropping from BMW's every day and stepping under the spotlight every time she walked out class.

"Mr. Granger?", the voice was unknown. She perked up her eyes, trying to spy the door, bending over the handrail. Her mother would kill her if she saw her daughter doing it. But she could only see his father's back. "My name is Minerva McGonagall and I'm here to talk about a scholarship for your daughter at my school".

Hermione almost toppled over, something not advisable when one is almost straddling the stairs handrail. She quickly got down and rushed downstairs, her mind running a mile a minute. She had given up all hope about that Hogwarts business, when no contact had arrived that week. She had been afraid her small stunt at hacking the school network would come to bite her in the ass, but as Friday came and almost had gone, the girl had pushed it to the back of her mind. But someone had come, and a tiny part of her was glad it wasn't that Professor Snape. Not all gold in the world would convince her parents to send her somewhere near a man like that.

"Hermione?", her mother's voice called her. "I know you are there, come here please. There is someone who wants to meet you".

They were in the sitting room, around the coffee table. The woman was very different from her fellow employee, even if she had the same rigid posture. Maybe it was a Hogwarts thing. She had greying auburn hair, tied in a tight bun, a thin face, and sharp, dark brown eyes behind small wire framed glasses. Mrs. McGonagall was wearing a silky looking bottle green dress, and pointed low-heeled shoes. Hermione thought she was old enough to be her grandmother, but her lean frame and catlike graceful movements, and that sharp glaze that focused on her as soon as the girl entered the room, made her think that woman was far from being just an old lady.

"Good evening, Miss Granger", greeted her, with a thin smile, while shaking her hand with a firm, somewhat delicate, grip. "My name is Minerva McGonagall, and I'm deputy headmistress at Hogwarts School for the Gifted".

"It's a pleasure, ma'am", answered Hermione, her well ingrained good manners kicking in even when she felt bewildered by the situation. Why the very own deputy headmistress would come to her house at Friday evening? She had said it was about a scholarship, but maybe they had found out about the hacking? Was she in trouble?

"Well, please sit down, Professor", invited Emma, gesturing to the big sofa. "Can I offer you something to drink?".

"Some tea would be marvellous, if it's not much trouble", answered the woman, while sitting primly at the edge of the sofa, her hands in her lap. She had a leather handbag with her, that she placed on the ground. "I've had a full day, talking to parents of prospective students. You are the last ones, and I apologise for the hour".

"No problem at all, is Earl Grey fine?", at the Professor nod, Emma departed to the kitchen. The sofa was U-shaped, around the coffee table, and Daniel took a seat across the woman. Hermione sat at the bottom of the U, while Dan scooped over a little, leaving a spot for his wife. Professor McGonagall praised their house, and made some small talk about the chilly spring, while they waited for Emma. After about ten minutes of chit chatting, Hermione's mom came back, carrying a tray with tea and biscuits, that she placed at the table.

When they finished stirring their teas, the Professor took a small sip, before placing her teacup on the saucer.

"As I've said, I'm deputy headmistress at a school for the gifted", started her, taking her handbag from the floor and placing it at her lap. "I don't know if your daughter told you about it, but last week we applied a small test at her school".

At the Grangers nod, she opened the handbag clasps, before taking a few folded sheets of paper.

"This is a copy of our test, we applied the same tests on over three hundred schools this year. It was designed by our teachers, with counselling from educators from Cambridge, Oxford, the Imperial College, St Andrews and Durham. Its level is so high, high-school graduates struggle to pass it".

The Grangers unfolded the papers and took note of some of the questions, shifting around the pages, the test was exactly like Hermione remembered it. The professor took another paper from her bag.

"Your daughter's got full marks on it".

Hermione blinked, while Emma's eyes jumped from the girl to the test. A sense of pride flooded the petite girl's body. She knew it was a difficult test, but something created by Professors at the best universities in the country? And she had aced it!

"You can understand our immediate interest in your girl. Hogwarts excels in special courses for the gifted, and it would be our pleasure to have Hermione enrolled in our First Year class, next term".

Professor McGonagall took some folders from her handbag, spreading them on the table. She took Emma's teacup and placed it a little bit to the left, then pushing Dan's with the back of her hand, to properly open one of them. Hermione raised from her seat, her eyebrows going up in excitement, the picture showed a castle!

Professor McGonagall gave a low chuckle at the girl almost bouncing in her place, flashing her another thin smile.

"Yes, Hogwarts is a restored Middle Ages castle, course we updated it with electric energy, heating and insulating, and even some lifts. They're staff only, I'm afraid, as we encourage students to exercise".

She pointed one of the interior photographs, depicting a classroom, with rows and rows of dark wooden desks. Another showed a huge greenhouse, filled with exotic flowers, while another showed a circular room with ten four-poster beds placed against the wall.

"Our installations are simply the best, with solid, custom made furniture, top of market appliances, high technology and a well thought blend of modern and traditional environments. We also love to boast about our unique greenhouses, extensive gardens, preserved natural forest and Olympic-sized indoor pool, even if students insist in swimming in our lake".

"As we are a board school, students are divided in four groups, each with its own wing, dormitory, common room for mingling and chaperon. The Head of each Wing is responsible for the student's wellbeing, providing counselling, dismissing fights, punishing bullying and preventing our famous parties from going pear shaped".

"Parties?", Emma  _had_  attended college in the seventies, and the thought of locked dorms full of teenagers nowadays was a real worry.

"It seems I've explained things in the wrong order", said Professor McGonagall, placing other folder over the Hogwarts map. "Hogwarts is attended only by gifted students. Not just academically gifted, like your daughter, but also by any student who excel in some area of interest. Not only we have the best minds of this generation, but also our future athletes, artists and politicians. Our school is a truly elite one, and we house the heirs of England's richest and well-connected. Each student who passes through our hallowed halls finds him or herself part of a network of the next generation leaders. We don't just teach students, but raise our society top, people who will make a difference in the future".

"While our academic course is strong and very demanding, we also have teams for some sports, and we encourage some beneficial competitively between our four groups. Not only there is inter-group games, with even a trophy at the end of the year, but we also have academic competitions, a debate club and a system of rewarding points for students who complete challenges and have good behaviour, inside and outside class. The group with most points at the end of the year receive benefits like extended curfew hours, longer library dues and exclusive use of some of the facilities, like the pool and computer rooms. As good willed competition is instilled on our students, we allow chaperoned parties at the end of each game, and we offer many social gatherings between all our students, to prevent this competition from becoming social exclusion. We encourage our pupils to make friends with people from every group, and most of our classes are shared between two or more groups".

Hermione felt some trepidation at the idea of been alone in a school full of children, but if all of that was true, she wouldn't be short in opportunities of making friends. Also, students would share dorms, and it was hard not to become at least cordial with someone who slept in the same room for most of the year. If that room depicted in the folder would be full, she would have at least nine roommates.

"Where?"

There was a pain in her mother's voice, as if she was bracing herself. Hermione thought she was just nervous about the fact she would be in a boarding school full of mean children. Maybe it was in London, her parents could catch the train at the parent meeting.

"Scotland", Professor McGonagall answered, making her parents close their eyes. Hermione never had been in Scotland. She was getting excited.

"A boarding school, in Scotland", her father murmured, almost stunned. Hermione frowned, was it really such a strange affair for a boarding school to be in Scotland? Weren't there boarding school around all United Kingdom?

"Our term starts in the first of September, and the Christmas break happens from the second Sunday of December to the Third of January. Classes are suspended again six days before Easter, and returned seven days after. The term ends in the first week of June. Students can receive letters through Fax, each weekday, and every Monday packages from home are delivered, we have an internal Post Office to deliver them in hands. There are Mail Boxes in all major cities in the United Kingdom to receive those packages, every weekday, and if parents want to send food or sweets, we recommend them to bring it personally at our nearest Mail Office, and we'll keep them refrigerated and fresh for delivery".

"No calls?", asked Emma, almost painfully. Hermione winced at her tone, she was start to suspect her parents where somewhat against the scholarship. Professor McGonagall inclined her body slightly, her eyes full of some thing the girl strangely thought to be empathy.

"Mrs. Granger, Mr. Granger, I can understand your preoccupation, but you must comprehend our school is really advanced, and I'm not saying it just for advertisement sake. Our workload is very demanding, and we need students to focus on it. Also, the amount of contact between students and parents is something we already tested by trial and error since our school opened in its modern configuration. We don't want students to become homesick, or dependent on their parents. Family is important for us, and we never will try to replace it in the lives of our students, but our school focus on creating leaders, a task that is challenging enough when our pupils aren't under their mother's skirt", she gave them another thin smile. "But to answer your question, twice a week, after dinner, 15 minutes, tops".

"Doesn't this isolation curb their social development?", asked Hermione's father, dejected.

"None at all. They have daily relations with their peers and teachers, students and staff dinner together and we offer many activities outside classroom so they can mingle and interact. Also, each group Head offers counselling, and after Fourth Year, each student has to participate in individual projects, offering a more informal setting between professor and student. Also, as I've said before, students have a Common Room to mingle, that means our First Years, aged 11 and 12, divide space with all older students, up to our Seventh Years, aged 17 and 18".

"You said your school can prevent bullying?", asked Hermione, speaking for the first time. The idea of diving space with older kids was difficult for her, as her previous experiences were that the older the child is, the meanest they get.

"We absolutely abhor bullying. Our school have a 'nip in the bud' philosophy. When you do something wrong, you are punished. The heavier the slight, the heavier the punishment. By your looks, I need to clarify: we don't believe in physical violence as punishment. I assure you our dungeons are purely for decoration. No, we believe it's better to punish a wrongdoer by making him or her do something productive. As such, we don't believe in writing lines as serves no purpose. Students usually serve detention cleaning the halls or the bathrooms, washing, hanging and ironing clothes, polishing cutlery, mowing, cooking, or, when they are older, correcting homework and essays from younger years. Every punishment is done under supervision from a Staff member, and if the student skivvies off a detention, he is punished longer. We also don't try to slave kids, nor our school runs on wrongdoer's labour. Detentions are measured in time, not in workload, so we balance it for the appropriate age. We also have a list of permitted detentions, all of them can be done by either genre. We discovered that assigning lighter detentions to females does more bad than good".

The Professor gave a little sip at her cup, prompting the Grangers to do the same. Hermione's tea was cold, but she rolled the liquid in her tongue, thinking fast. Maybe if all her bullies had been punished when they started picking on her, they would repent and cease to confront people. Maybe this school was the right thing for her. The woman placed her cup again at the saucer, and changed folders.

"Hogwarts is old. Before our modern approach to teaching, it was a Monastery, about a thousand years ago, in the Middle Ages. Princes and noble heirs would gather there to learn writing, law, medicine, theology and engineering. With time, we started to accept plebeians, and shifted our focus from noble students to gifted students. We quickly found out it was better to teach bright, even if poor, people than the rich, but dim. Nowadays the Queen's government invest quite a hefty sum in Hogwarts, permitting us to offer scholarships to students who couldn't otherwise afford our school. Ninety-nine percent of our students finish their Seventh Year already accepted by one of the top-twenty universities in the UK. The small percentage left is comprised of students who doesn't want to pursue higher education and instead are employed on their family's business. Most of our former students are directly or indirectly employed but the government. A small amount works for the private sector, mainly in consulting, after working for the Queen. The government never does something without gain, so the donations that keep our scholarships going are reverted in excellent professionals who will assume positions of leadership and excellence in our country".

"It may sounds like the government thinks of Hogwarts' students as simple investments, and it's probably true. But we, Hogwarts staff, think of our mission as molding our country's future, through the next generation. We think your daughter can make a difference in the future, that she can change our world into something better. This test in your hands prove without doubt your girl is different from other children. You can pretend it's not true and confine her here where she'll never be understood, when her skills will never be properly polished. Or you can send her to my school, where she could find people like her, people who never really fitted in with their peers before. She can be your little girl here, or become a woman to make you proud, in Scotland".

Hermione believed it. She could sense it in the rush of her blood, in the creaks of her bones. She could feel it in her heart, and in her incredible brain. She  _needed_  to go to Scotland, to Hogwarts, to her kindred souls and future friends. She prepared herself, for the second time that month, to grovel and beg and please. But her dad's had a strange look upon his face.

"I… I think I hear the phone calling", said him, a little too fast for it to be normal. Also, complete silence remained in the house, and Hermione knew there was a phone in that very same room. He stood up suddenly, almost knocking over the coffee table. He coughed, a slight blush raising on his cheeks. "I… will answer it".

He almost ran out the room, walking a little funny. Hermione was slightly ashamed about it, even the little girl could understand that was quite rude of him. What could be possibly the emergency…? Emma stood up too, one of her hands pressing her stomach.

"I'll bring some more tea, this one is cold", she tripped upon walking out, and had barely passed through the doorway before breaking into a run. A run! Hermione shifted her eyes to Professor McGonagall, almost expecting some comment about her parents strangeness. But the old woman was sipping her teacup once again, almost absentmindedly, her eyes dancing in some weird amuse. Hermione felt her mind click in place.

"You've done something to them", she accused, her voice low, full of some kind of dread. A cold, invisible hand gripped her stomach, and her eyes hopped around the room, while the woman stood still, silently judging her. Hermione's gaze fell on the cold tea, still in their cups. "You put something in their tea. When…", her mind supplied some information she hadn't completely assimilated before. "When you place the folders on the table, you moved their cups, pouring something in them!".

She stood up, suddenly afraid of the results from her outburst. The strange Professor, if she really was a Professor at all, had poisoned her parents with such a straight face, what she could do to her, the only witness?

"Sit down, Miss Granger", there was a edge of steel in that order, for it was no request. Hermione's knees bended before her brain even registered the words. She sat down, folding her hands in her lap, could sweat running down her back. Professor McGonagall placed her teacup on the table for the last time.

"I haven't poisoned your parents, if this is what you're worrying about", answered her, crossing her long legs under her bottle-green dress. "It was just a unharmful dosage of a potent laxative. It'll give us about half an hour for a more… Private conversation".

"I can yell", told Hermione, in a steady, cold voice that surprised even her. Her hand sled over the table, slowly, searching. "They'll come, my father was in the Army, you know?"

"I know. In fact, before coming here, I've learnt everything there is to know about your family. I know how your parents met, where they work, how much they earn, where you were born, even the content of your knickers drawer".

The cold grip in her stomach was suffocating her, the lungs constricting painfully. She had something in her hand, and she was holding it so tightly the thing was biting in her hand.

"I've lied to you", admitted the Professor, and Hermione's heart sank. "At least, I haven't be entirely forthcoming. I've come today to offer you a scholarship in my school, Hermione, but Hogwarts isn't a place for intelligent people only".

Professor McGonagall removed a black folder from her leather bag, sliding it to her. There was no title, and no photographs. Hermione didn't dare move to take it. She just faced the woman who had just admitted poisoning her parents just to corner her alone.

"Hogwarts is a school for hit-men".

Hermione blinked. That was unexpected, to make a gross understatement. There was a pain in her right hand, but she hadn't moved her eyes from McGonagall. The woman looked undisturbed by her own words.

"Young talents people come from all U.K. to learn the arts at Hogwarts. Self-defence, shooting, surviving skills, cryptography, counter-intelligence, infiltration, poisoning… Assassination. Every student leaves Hogwarts as an intelligence agent, fully trained to take any mission, their talents sharpened to be a weapon".

"And why does it concern me?", asked Hermione, her voice broken and constricted. "I… I've never killed somebody. I've never even been in a fight! Until last week I was my classmates' punching bag! WHAT DO YOU WANT WITH ME?".

She was standing, a strange rage filling her to the brim, on the verge of spilling and drowning her. There was pain in her, not only on her gripping hand, but in her heart too. She was unbelievable weak, she had always been. That dangerous place wasn't for people like her, and it felt as that woman was rubbing it at her face. Her own weakness, her own inability to stand for herself against mean people. Assassination? Self-defence? It could only be a joke.

"It's in your blood, Miss Granger. If not, why would you be threatening me with a blade?".

Hermione opened her hand, and the blunt butter knife slipped out, falling on the floor with a loud thud. She couldn't explain for the life of her how she had obtained the knife from the tray. She also noticed she was standing, and immediately sat down, feeling disconnected with her own body. Professor McGonagall flashed her that damning tight-lipped smile.

"You would be a valuable asset to our group. You feel weak now, but I've seen a strength in you, and Hogwarts can mold it in a blade sharper than the one you just let go. Everything I've said to your parents is true: Hogwarts condemn bullying, and encourage unharmful competition. Our goal really is to raise the next generation leaders, not only future agents or soldiers, but true leaders. People who do want need to be done, in this day and age".

Hermione fidgeted under McGonagall unwavering gaze, and thought about all the things she had learnt that day. About underworlds and agents. The Grangers had all the works by Ian Fleming somewhere in the study-slash-library upstairs. To plunge into a novel-like world made her head spin.  _Spies_ , thought her, a little dazed. It sounded so far-fetched!

"You guys… Kill people?", she blurted the question thoughtlessly, but didn't regret it. "I will kill people?".

"Do you  _want_  to kill people?"

"Of course not!", shrieked her, feeling affronted with the question.

"So you probably won't kill people. Nonetheless, you'll learn how to do it, if the situation demands it. Ultimately, everything resides in your choices. Hogwarts will not train you to be an assassin, but an intelligence agent, a person who can deal with any situation. Some of our pupils use violence to solve their problems, others use wit, others try to avoid conflict entirely. You'll decide, if the need arises, what to do about it".

The Professor gave her another thin smile.

"But, gathering from your question, can I assume you want to be enrolled?"

Hermione closed her eyes, feeling tired. The choice weighted over her. The girl knew if she really wanted to go, she would convince her parents to sign the forms. But that would mean a whole life of lies and deception, just like Professor McGonagall had used poisoned tea to create an opportunity to talk to her. She thought about how her parents where probably suffering from the laxative, and asked herself if she could manipulate people like that. Not now, she concluded, but only God knew what kind of person she would become after seven years at Hogwarts.

But, above all, McGonagall's words had resounded deep in her heart. There were people like her in this world, and they gathered at Hogwarts. Maybe her schoolmates had been so mean to her because they felt that thing — the one that made her threaten a complete stranger with a blade, no matter how blunt —, that… Darkness in her, that could made an assassination class be normal. Darkness that could make an underworld of spies and murderers sound… Exciting.

With a start, Hermione noticed she was excited about the prospect of becoming an "agent". Her thirst of knowledge wouldn't settle down anymore, after finding such a world existed under everybody's noses. Maybe all that unwavering need to learn, that exhilarating feeling of  _exploiting_ her knowledge, like the hacking and switch-hooking, every little experiment was just her blood demanding her to become… that. To embrace her Darkness and to give up her normal life for one she could never tell her parents about.

The Grangers walked back inside the room, startling her and breaking her dark thoughts. They were sweaty and clammy, so pale! Hermione felt a burning rage inside, looking at them. She would  _never_  do that to her family. She would protect them. Now that the girl knew where to find it, she would obtain a strength enough to shield her precious parents from suffering. Never again they would need to console her, to kiss away her tears, to worry about her wellbeing, locked in a school full of enemies. Hermione would be strong, instead of weak. She would be unbreakable.

"You can give your answer until next Friday. Here is my card, if you have any doubts, any at all, call me. Read the folders, there is much I haven't explained about Hogwarts in them, you can also contact our Post Office about communications with the school, if you want to know more. I'm sorry, but it's getting very late, and I need to go".

They stood up, and Hermione accompanied them to the door, holding the black folder, the one for her eyes only, against her stomach skin, under her blouse. The secret now burned inside her, like fuel to a potent engine. She latched on it, holding the secret in her heart.

The pizza was very cold, when they finally sat down to eat. Her parents hadn't even offered to reheat it, but Hermione was okay with cold pizza, that night. They sat in silence, but her parents shared strange glances between them, holding a conversation only a long married couple could have. There was a shadow in their eyes when her parents finally looked at her.

They were going to miss her, understood Hermione with a start. And her heart hammered in her chest, and her breath was taken away. Because they were going to miss her. And she would miss them dearly, but she couldn't calm her heart. Because they would miss her, and that could only mean a single thing.

Hermione Granger was going to Hogwarts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I make a point of always writing some personal notes at the end of the chapter. If you want, you can make a point on ignoring them.
> 
> This story was posted in FFNet last month. I'm posting all the 4 chapters today, to sync both stories, and every chapter will be posted simultaneously here and there. I answer all reviews, and try to answer any questions you have, without spoiling the story, of course!
> 
> I won't mesh the stories' reviews together, so I won't fill up these author notes here with comments I received there, only in special cases when the question is very relevant.
> 
> My posting schedule is 1 chapter per week, even if the day of posting can vary. If I'm late, I'll explain why. Someone at FFNet warned me this is a very strict schedule, but I assure will I have experience with writing (in my own language), so I know my limits. Also, while I'm posting chapter 4 I'm already writing chapter 10, so I always have some wriggling room. This story is already fully planned, and right now I'm finishing the planning for the second book, so the only bumps in the road that I can foresee are time-related. 
> 
> Now, back at FFNet, someone asked me why the story is rated "Mature". I won't depict hardcore sex in this Series, not now when the characters are children, not later when they'll be adults. But this IS a story about intelligence agents, so sex is almost a must. There will be plenty of innuendo, lots of violence, people shooting people and some gay hanky-panky, but not explicit. Hope these aren't a turn off for you!
> 
> As I've already said, all reviews, questions, jabs and marriage proposals are very much accepted and encouraged! :D


	3. Diagon Alley

After some deliberation and appointment cancelling, the Grangers decided on visiting London on 31st of July. It was a bright Wednesday, and summer finally was in full blast. They rode on car from Crawley to Central London, where they parked and left on the tube to Tottenham Court Road. The day heat was almost unbearable — even more when underground —, but they marched on, and Hermione even had a bounce in her step.

They were going to buy her school supplies, and while that was exciting in its own for her, what made the girl almost bounce off the walls was the fact she had a secret inside her, and that day would be her first taste of her new world. She had read the black folder an even dozen times, and could picture it in her mind with perfect detail, if the need would arise. Her parents followed her on a more sedate pace, but it seemed they finally had made peace with the notion their little girl was going to Scotland.

Earlier that month, they had called Hogwarts' London Office to enrol her, and had ironed out some doubts about transportation, books, uniforms and so on. Hermione's Hogwarts' acceptance letter had came on the seventh of July, by special mail post, which amused the Grangers to no end, as there is no post on Sundays. But Hogwarts apparently didn't abide by the rules. In that letter, instructions about where to buy her supplies and how she was going to Hogwarts where given. Also, she got a train ticket, stamped with 1st of September, 11 o'clock on it.

The Grangers discovered Hogwarts had quite few options for supplies. Everything was pretty specific, and the only stores which sold those items where located in Central London. There were some oddities in those instructions, which — the family was starting to learn — was usual when dealing with that school. First, Hermione's uniforms would be a traditional private school's one, but every piece would be black, without markings or emblems. The letter said her uniform would be customised after her "sorting", whatever that could be. Also, there was no specification about footwear, she needed her own chemistry kit, notebooks were forbidden for use in class, she needed a calligraphy kit, a scientific programmable calculator (something Mr. Granger said was used by engineering majors), besides other odds and ends. She also needed to register at a special office located at the end of the street, where she would get a gift: an honest to God  _wooden trunk_. Her father had laughed for hours when he heard about it.

It had not been so easy to convince them to allow her to go. After Hermione had made her best wounded puppy eyes, Mr. and Mrs. Granger started to research about Hogwarts on their own. The girl had broke in cold sweat when she heard about it, but Hogwarts came clean. It truly was an elite school, it had its own website, the list of ex-alumni was impressive (there was even a former Prime Minister there!) and the rumours the Grangers could pick from their friends were all praise about Hogwarts, how it catered the abnormally rich and powerful. In fact, one of Mr. Granger ex-brother-in-arms from the Army confessed his boss' son would start his first year at Hogwarts too, and he already was the envy of all the higher-ups. After this, the family talked a lot, Emma had cried her eyes out when she thought Hermione couldn't hear her, and they sealed the deal.

More tears would come, Hermione was sure. Probably she would cry too, never being so far from her parents for so long would certainly make her homesick. But she would wing it, and there were loads of ways to contact her family. What really stung was the fact she would celebrate her 12th birthday in school. Her mum had promised they would have a party before she left, but the girl felt it wouldn't be the same. Nonetheless, she almost couldn't bear the wait.

As always, Central London was packed. Tottenham Court Road was the go-to for mid-to-high clothing prices, and bustling madames in a hurry shared the sidewalks with penniless teens who just went there to hang out. Parked cars lined the road, sometimes without enough space to fit a sheet of paper between them. Violin music floated out a fancy café, while the pungent smell of oily fish and chips permeated the air around a small food cart. All in all, the Grangers decided to keep close, and Emma held Hermione's hand while they carefully treaded amongst the shoppers while looking for the right stores.

"Tell me again, where should we go first?", asked Mr. Granger, eyeing the throng of people with unabashed fear. He never was one for shopping, Emma could attest it. He hated Harrod's with a passion only rivalled by his love of Rugby.

"It says here we should first rent a trolley from a place called the Leaky Cauldron, as some of the supplies can be quite heavy", informed Emma, who carried the folder which came with Hermione's acceptance letter. "It's a pub of some sorts, maybe we could have lunch there later".

In fact, after glancing at the Leaky Cauldron, they unanimously decided they would  _not_  have lunch there. Better yet, they would not even touch anything from the run-down, dirty pub. The two story brick building stand out like a sore thumb amongst the fancy storefronts, covered by a layer of soot and, guessing by the murky windows, grease. Daniel Granger entered the place with a stony expression Hermione called his "soldier face". After less than five minutes, he came back pushing a big trolley.

"Hope the other places don't look like this, or we are pulling you out", he informed, while browbeating the small cranky wheels to stay aligned. Hermione rolled her eyes. Emma gave a little  _hem_  sound, pointing the folder.

"The first place should be bookstore", she chuckled at her daughter's wide smile. "But we are buying your school texts only!".

It was an empty threat, they all knew it. Nothing in this world could make Hermione Granger leave a bookstore with only the book she had to buy. They browsed the shelves of the huge bookstore, taking titles that caught their fancy, as her parents were almost as much book lovers as her. Hermione caught the eye of a pretty seller, who gave her a slime.

"May I help you, my dear?", she asked, flashing her nametag to her and giving her a basket for carrying her purchases.

"I need the full textbook set for Hogwarts, First Year", said Hermione. The seller furrowed her brow, glancing at Hermione's earrings. The girl's heart leapt in her chest. Her black folder, who now resided safely in her socks drawer, had informed her about what was to come.

"These are gorgeous earrings, where did you buy them?", asked the saleswoman, touching her left diamond stud. She was speaking so softly Hermione, who was right in front of her, almost couldn't understand her words. She felt her mouth go dry.

"In Diagon Alley", answered the girl, with barely a whisper. The saleswoman gave her a smile, and disappeared between the shelves without a word. Hermione trembled slightly, her heart still hammering against her ribcage.

The black folder explained the need for a code when buying school supplies. Anyone could say they were going to Hogwarts, and it could be disastrous if a salesperson would give them some of the more _sensible_  items. That's why she would be asked questions which a real student would answer with the key words "Diagon Alley". As the text explained, the phrase was traditional, coined in ancient times, and probably at some time it had been a real place.

Her parents stood by her side, their arms loaded with books. As it was, Crawley had only one public library and a handful of bookstores, so the Grangers always seized the opportunity to get the latest releases when they went to London. While Emma was a confessed romance novel reader, Daniel was an automobile and firearms enthusiast. Hermione had trouble to hold her laughter when she saw he had a computer magazine featuring the to be released Apple Powerbook Series on the cover.

She refrained to be obvious, like getting a James Bond or spies encyclopedia, so she added a Cold War history book and an advanced electronics manual, for light reading at school. She hoped the  _trunk_  would be big enough to hold all the books she intended to take to Hogwarts. The salesperson arrived with a carefully wrapped package, big enough to hold 15 books, by Hermione's experienced calculations. Her parents raised their eyebrows, glancing at the enormous load.

"Hogwarts  _is_  an elite school", explained the saleswoman, as if it justified anything. "But we sell it as a full package in the fist year, instead of charging each book individually. I can guarantee you guys got a really nice discount. And some books your daughter's going to use for five years before she needs an update".

They payed for their purchases and laid the books on the bottom of the trolley. Next they visited the store at the other side of the road, where they bought her chemistry kit (after the store owner asked her where they had parked the car — at Diagon Alley) and a small precision scale. Next was the supplies store, where she bought binders (Hogwarts didn't accept notebooks for school usage, for some reason), lined paper, blank paper, cartography paper, adhesive paper, squared paper, balance sheet paper and coloured paper. Also, she got lots of pens, post-it blocks, pencils, erasers, highlighters, a full set of rulers, squares, protractors and a compass for drawing circles. After murmuring the pass-phrase, she also got a calligraphy kit and a heavy steel-made click-on pen.

The calligraphy kit amused the older Grangers to no end. The glass window on the lid of its leather case showed its contents: an inkwell, two quills and five extra silver tips. Daniel joked about getting her some parchment for note taking, only stopping when Hermione threatened to leave him behind and finish her shopping alone. When Emma argued that Dan probably would be glad if she did so, the bushy-haired girl reminded them he couldn't inspect her uniform skirt length if he did so. For the rest of the trip, Dan Granger was a good boy.

After a quick trip to the apothecary to get her the basic components for her chemistry kit (while the Grangers had no idea why the kit and its substances where sold separately, Hermione had an educated guess about it) they finally arrived at Madam Malkin's Clothes for All Occasions.

The store was quite bland, giving an air of subtle wealth not unlikely the best boutiques of Crawley, where they had bought her clothes not so long before, so she could flaunt to her classmates. It was an spacey store, with reddish floorboards polished to mirror-likeness, walls lined with cabinets and clothes racks. The back wall, opposite to the door, was hidden behind a thick periwinkle blue curtain, making the real size of the place hard to guess. In front of the curtain, at the centre, there was a small counter. Plush chairs with flowery motifs where placed under the street windows, and Daniel Granger promptly threw himself at one of them. They had left the trolley just after the door, keeping the passage free. The Granger women rolled their eyes in sync at their man's antics.

Hermione was serviced by Madam Malkin herself, if her nametag was true, when the short, plump woman bustled from behind the curtain with a wide smile. When the woman walked inside the store properly, Hermione could glimpse people behind the wall of cloth.

"Good morning! School uniform, my dear? Or something to catch the eye of some boy?", asked the Madam, with a saucy wink. Emma chuckled when a blush spread on her daughter's cheeks.

"School uniform, please", said the girl, fighting her blush. "Hogwarts".

The Madam's demeanour changed subtly, her professional smile giving place to a more natural openness.

"Oh, my dear, how nice!", exclaimed the woman, "I remember my own time at Hogwarts, oh, the lazy afternoons swimming at the lake, the feasts and the parties… And my young sweetheart Artie", she sighed like a schoolgirl, "such a pity he was stolen from me by that two-faced redhead slu…"

Emma coughed loudly, and it was Madam Malkin's turn to blush heavily. The older Granger smiled nonetheless.

"So you went to Hogwarts?", asked Hermione's mum, cheerily. "Well, I have some questions that only a person with first-hand experience could answer, may we talk for a little?".

Madam Malkin nodded, still a little sheepish after her outburst, and followed the Grangers to the window seats. She waved to Hermione, signalling the curtain.

"Go on, child, my assistants will take care of you".

Hermione slipped through the heavy material, and found a cosy space behind it, with four clothes changers divided by white curtains. A tall blond woman was inspecting one long blood red dress in the hands of a salesgirl, while an older saleswoman was sticking needles at the hem of a young girl's uniform. Hermione recognised the emblem stitched at the right sleeve was Hogwarts'. The saleswoman raised her eyes and noticed her.

"Hogwarts too, my dear?", at Hermione's nod she pointed a small wooden stool besides the girl. "Up you go then, I'm almost finished here".

Hermione nervously stepped on the stool and shifted her weight to climb. The girl gave her a sideways glance, but didn't said anything. Hermione couldn't help but notice she was the prettiest girl she had ever met. Long golden hair falling in gentle curls just past her shoulders, and the most gorgeous ice-blue eyes resting on a doll-like face, with a perfect pout in her pink lips. She was taller than Hermione, by at least three inches. Not that really meant something: as her mother, Hermione was a petite thing, the shortest from her class. With a spark of envy, the bushy-haired girl saw that her future classmate already had noticeable curves, while she was flat as a board herself.

"Hi", said Hermione with a confident smile, maybe spurred by some long forgotten instinct every woman possessed when in disadvantage before another female. "I'm Hermione, your future classmate. What's your name?".

"Daphne Greengrass", was the answer, with melodious voice. It seemed the girl had gotten the all-in-one package for preteen perfection. Hermione almost rolled her eyes, but stopped herself because it would be terrible uncouth. Daphne gave her an appraising look, almost as if she was sizing up the smaller girl. "You are alone?".

"My parents are beyond the curtain, talking with Madam Malkin", answered Hermione, while putting on the uniform, struggling to pass her head through the small hole of the blouse. The salesgirl took the piece from her and gave her another. When Hermione finished dressing, she was certain her hair must had been a frigging mess. "They are asking her about Hogwarts".

"Your parents are civilians?", asked Daphne, raising a perfect golden eyebrow. Hermione looked back at her, confused. Her father had served the Army, but had retired. The blond must had noticed her confusion. "They have no idea what's really happening today, I mean."

"You…", spluttered Hermione, her eyes wide. "Your parents know about  _it_?".

"Of course, after all they met each other at Hogwarts. School sweethearts who fell in love doing homework together. I don't know how many times I've heard this story already".

Surprise flooded the young girl, her thoughts jumping around her head, she couldn't even feel the small pinpricks as the woman fixed her skirt length with small needles. Finally, her mind seemed to reboot, and she asked the first thing she could think.

"My children will attend Hogwarts?".

Daphne raised her eyebrow again, but this time a smile tugged at the corners of her small mouth.

"Don't you think it's a little early to talk about kids?", asked her, then a small dose of sarcasm filled her next words. "You know, if you really like to go around, there are methods to prevent it".

The salesgirl at Hermione's feet laughed, and the girl could feel the heat on her cheeks like burning fire. She spluttered even harder, moving around to face the blond fully, a wild strand of hair stuck to her cheek, almost in her mouth.

"Of course not!", she shrieked. Daphne rolled,  _rolled!,_  her eyes at her,  _at her!_.

"Relax, I was only joking, Bushie".

"It's Hermione!".

"Whatever", rebutted Daphne. "Mother attended Hogwarts, as did Father. I always knew I could enrol there, if I met the requirements. I passed, and in two years my sister will try to enrol too. My grandparents attended Hogwarts, every single relative of mine did, to be clear. You can say that the Underworld is family's business".

Daphne allowed her small smile to bloom fully.

"So, to answer your question: yes, your future kids will probably attend Hogwarts. If you don't get expelled before graduation, 'course".

Hermione watched in a haze as Daphne disrobed and put on a summer dress. She jumped down the stool, signalling to the statuesque blond woman at the back, who probably was her mother. Hermione thought about murmuring the passphrase all day long, looking over her shoulder to make sure no one could overhear it.

"It must be nice, not having to lie to your family", said her, softly, only for Daphne to bless her with a last raised eyebrow.

"Dunno about it. I can remember a single instance when I told them the truth", commented her. She waved dismissively, like a queen bidding goodbye to her subjects. "See you at Hogwarts, Bushie".

Hermione jumped from the stool and shove her head through the opening on the thick curtains.

"It's Hermione!", yelled her, but she couldn't see them anymore. From the other side of the room, her mother raised her head and looked at her.

"What was it, sweetie?", asked her, glancing from her to the door still mid-closing. Hermione thought about it for a single second, before finding the answer.

"A friend".

**{}**

Tired and with hurting feet, the Grangers crawled to the last place. The sun was setting slowly behind the stores, long shadows finally chasing off the summer heat. The map described that store as the most important from the whole trip, as without registering there she wouldn't be able to attend the school. It surely didn't show its importance: the whole storefront was little more than a narrow wooden door with a plaque hanging above it. Faded letters announced:  _Ollivander's_.

The door was squeezed between a huge ice cream parlour called "Mr. Fortescue's Freezing Delicacies" on one side and a small pub with no name on the other. The older Grangers looked longly to the food pictures at the pub, while Emma couldn't help but drool over the three story high super-sundae displayed at Fortescue's front window. Hermione fidgeted a little, eyeing the tiny store.

"Why don't you guys find a seat there while I go inside for a tick?", proposed her, faking interest on the icy delights. "Probably I just need to sign a book or something, you can order for me and I'll be back before it starts to melt".

"You sure, princess?", asked Dan, even if his eyes didn't stray from the food posters. "The trunk must be heavy for you alone…"

"If I find any problem, I'll just poke my head out and call you, ok? Find a table outside, it won't take long".

That settled it, and Hermione's parents trudged inside Mr. Fortescue's, while their daughter opened the door to Ollivander's, her heart hammering again against her chest. The black folder explained all that would happen, and she couldn't help but to be nervous.

The door closed behind her, forced by an old spring, while a small bell ringed eerily. The store was as narrow as it looked, and was completely devoid of any displays or merchandise. There was only a splinter chair on a corner, and a wooden counter filled the store from wall to wall, about five paces after the door. Everything was covered by a fine layer of dust, and the floorboards croaked under her feet.

"Ms. Granger, I presume?", asked a raspy voice, making Hermione scream and jump, as the voice spoke right in her left ear. She whirled around, one arm extended in front of her for protection, the other hand clutching her chest over her heart. Mr. Ollivander just flashed her a slow smile.

He was tall and thin, to the point of looking frail. He had a wisp of snow-white hair and an elvish face, with a long thin nose and pointy chin. He was dressed with a tuxedo, every part of him as dusty as his store. He pierced her with an electric blue gaze, and widened his smile, if possible.

"I never had a Granger before", said him. "I'm really excited to know what will match you".

He moved around her, his long legs creaking loudly, while he took a long measuring tape from his pocket. His touch was light as a feather, and his movements were unbelievable fast, letting Hermione to ponder if he truly was taking notes of her measures, or if this was some kind of showmanship. He dragged an iron scale from behind the counter and made her climb up it, but Hermione couldn't see any weight or dial for him to find out her weight. After this, he opened up a battered down leather suitcase, that he took from behind the counter, and offered her a L-shaped steel piece.

"Hold it by the shortest side", instructed him, and so the girl held the instrument as a toy gun. "Close your eyes, stretch your arm, hold still".

She did it for almost a minute, before he snatched the piece from her hands. He gave her another, shorter, and she repeated his instructions. This time she couldn't hold it for more than ten seconds before Ollivander switched the piece for another, heavier; and then for a longer one; then one she couldn't hold stretched as the point was so much heavier than the handle; then another that almost strained her wrist with its weight. Finally, Ollivander took the last instrument from her and disappeared through a door to the back of the shop.

Hermione had to wait for about a quarter of hour before the man returned, carrying a large leather-bound book, a brown paper-wrapped package and a huge cardboard box in his tow. He used a rusty box cutter to open the top of it, then he showed her the small pack in his hand.

"This piece was fitted to you, make sure to take good care of it. You can use another's, but it would never fit you like this one, remember that. But, open your ears really good now, the package is sealed, and YOU. WILL. NOT. OPEN. IT!".

Hermione jumped at his yell, his whole demeanour changing to something fierce and dangerous.

"If you open the seal, you'll be expelled from Hogwarts. If you show it to someone, you'll be expelled from Hogwarts. The piece is unassembled and you'll only open this when your Professor tell you so. If for some reason you lose it…"

"I'll be expelled from Hogwarts", completed Hermione, dreadfully serious.

"Right you are. Sign here, I'll pack it for you".

He fiddled with the big box, and somehow put the small package inside it. Hermione heard a sound of wood grating against wood. She took a pen chained to the counter top and signed her name just below _Seamus Finnegan_. Ollivander scribbled the date after her signature and stamped it. He handled the box to Hermione, and the whole thing was so tall it came to her chest. She was almost calling her father when she noticed small wheels at both sides of the package. At the top of the box there was a strip of clear plastic for her to hold. Tipping the box towards herself had almost flattened the girl against the ground under the package, but Hermione managed to tow it outside the store after bidding the man goodbye.

"What's this?", asked her mother, sizing up the huge package. Hermione opened a strained smile, sweat dripping from her brow.

"My school trunk", sighed her, dropping to the chair and pulling the three store sundae towards her. She briefly wondered how that much ice cream could ever fit in her stomach, but after the first spoonful she was all for trying.

**{}**

Late at night, when Crawley slept peacefully, Hermione sled from the bed and tiptoed to her closet. Making sure to push down the door a little while opening to prevent creaks, she opened it and moved her clothes around. Without switching the lights on, she pushed out the reddish wooden trunk and carefully opened the lid. Fumbling in the dark, she felt around the bottom of the open trunk until she found the slot small enough to fit her fingernail with some difficulty. She bent her finger, leveraging. A tiny click was heard and the fake bottom popped up, letting her access the brown package.

She moved to the window, and opened the curtains just a little bit, a single moon ray illuminating the quiet bedroom. Hermione unwrapped it, and found the plastic case sealed at the borders with bright yellow tape. The pieces inside where encased in plastic, so they couldn't move around, not unlike her first Barbie doll, so long ago. But that thing in her hands wasn't any toy, for even if it was unassembled, the form was impossible to not recognise. She felt the real deal. An intelligence agent. A hitwoman. A secret keeper. A little girl carrying a deadly weapon in her school trunk.

Because Hermione Granger now had a gun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot to explain last post, but chapter 2 onwards are still unbeta'd. If you find I'm mangling your beautiful language too much, please drop me a review or PM and I'll try to set my ways straight. Most of people at FFNet are encouraging me being very kind with my English skills, but I recognise I still have a long way to go!


	4. Hogwarts Express

The light of dawn coloured Crawley in subtle crimson. The reddish hue blanketed the air itself, like a picture seen through a bloodied lens. Hermione knew it, because she couldn't sleep a wink that night. When the day finally broke, she tossed her duvet aside and padded to the bathroom, as if the dawning light were her signal to move. She filled the bathtub, for her first day of school deserved a long soak, and she had too many hours to kill.

Easing herself to the porcelain seat, Hermione fell into the easy ritual of scrubbing and rising, shampooing her wild hair with a special brand she had bought just for that first day. It smelled of delicate roses in spring, and produced bubbles the size of ping-pong balls. Piling her hair at the top of her head, the girl let the concoction act on her bushy mane until it would become a gorgeous honey-coloured mass of curls. She closed her eyes and smiled, sensing a perfect day.

Hermione followed the instructions to the letter, wrapping a fresh towel over her hair, while she sat at her desk, shifting the silk bathrobe to cover her entirely. She mentally debated about using the strawberry-flavoured gloss she had bought the previous week. While the girl was a little tempted to use it even if just to see the result, Hermione thought that wearing make-up her only on her first day would look pretentious, while dolling herself up every single day would be hell. The fact she owned a desk instead of a vanity table spoke volumes about her ability to keep up with fashion. Also, the point was moot when she had a single gloss tube and a small compact with foundation, used only once before, to hide a gargantuan pimple right between her eyebrows.

The young girl carefully checked her face using the small compact mirror, searching for blemishes she was sure would pop up at her special day. Fortunately, she found none, and decided against the gloss, shoving it in her drawer. Her trunk was full and already closed, if she could remember it later, she would take the gloss in her pocket.

Hermione slowly unwrapped her hair, and set the damp towel on her bed. Plugging the blow-dryer in the outlet, she used a small nylon brush to give a finishing to her gorgeous honey-coloured mass of curls.

She woke up her parents with her scream. They staggered into her room, bleary-eyed and carrying a rolled up newspaper in her father's case, ready to kill whichever monstrous spider she probably had laid her eyes upon. When Emma Granger took in the situation, she had mighty trouble to hold her laugh. Hermione was jumping up and down, white as a sheet, strangling a bottle of shampoo as if it were a culprit's neck, swearing up a storm, in three languages. She also was almost naked, as her silk bathrobe ("borrowed" from her own closed, Emma noticed) had fallen open and pooled at her waist. Dan averted his eyes and backtracked slowly, but steadily. Emma decided she had been amused enough, and put her hands on her hips, promptly falling in the mother's act.

" _Hermione Jane Granger_ ", hissed her, making Hermione freeze mid-jump. "What is this?".

The girl blushed to the roots of her hair, making it stand out even more. Emma felt the swallowed laugh pressuring against her ribs. It almost looked as if her daughter had put a finger in the wall socket, every single hair was standing up, thick as a rope and curled like a telephone cord. Most of it fell over the girl's eyes, covering her face, while the rest stood from the middle of her head, giving her thick, spring-like horns. An unnatural grease covered every strand, gluing it together even more.

"My gorgeous honey-coloured mass of curls".

It took a long time for Mrs. Granger to stop laughing.

**{}**

After averting a disaster of Homeric proportions, her mother decided it was inadvisable to left Hermione on her own on a day like that, so she helped her daughter to select an outfit for the trip. It was too damn early yet, even the girl had to admit, but as Hermione couldn't stay still for more than a nanosecond, and as Emma was up already, they agreed on breakfast. Hermione touched her hair carefully, in part to check if it was there still. Emma had pushed her into the bathtub and washed that mess off, pulling so much to remove the grease the girl cried, and then had rubbed every strand separately and quite forcefully. Her hair was mostly normal again, but Hermione was already mentally composing a complaint letter to the shampoo maker while going downstairs.

"How about reviewing the instructions while we wait, Hermione?", proposed Emma after browbeating the sliced bread down the toaster. She filled the kettle under the faucet while the girl looked over their assortment of fruit jams. She wouldn't be able to keep harsh browns or bacon in her stomach that day.

"Mom!", whined her, rolling her eyes at the older woman. "Please".

"You'll review it now or you'll review it at the train station. You choose", threatened her mother, waving a fork at her like a magical wand. Hermione furrowed her brow, but relented at last.

"I'll call you the first opportunity, at night, to report the calling schedule and say I'm fine", started Hermione, her mouth working without any need to think. They had reviewed the instructions at least four times a day since the previous week. She took a toast and spread raspberry jam over it. "You guys will be waiting my call every evening, from six to eleven, tomorrow to next Monday".

"And if you don't call us, we will personally retrieve you from Scotland, little lady", said Emma with such force Hermione stopped mid-bite. "Go on".

"I'll try to make friends. I'll give your cookies to my roommates to butter them up. I'll take care of myself, and will tell my professors if there is any problem".

"I won't take any medicine on my own, I'll tell you if I run out of tampons and I'll find out how to wash my clothes first thing tomorrow".

Emma nodded approvingly.

"And if you can't wash it for some days…?", prompted her. Hermione made a face.

"I'll wash my undergarments on the shower".

She really wished it wouldn't be necessary. It reminded her of a summer, five years prior, when Daniel Granger decided they need to experience a Full Summer Vacation, at Brighton. As it seemed, a Full Summer Vacation involved two lost suitcases, a mix-up with their reservations, four days of unrelenting storms and a tiny Hermione whining about her only reading material being an outdated travel guide they had found at the hotel lobby. Emma had to wash their undies under the cold shower head, because the hotel's boiler was broken, and they had to wear the same clothes for five days, even during their sleep. Needless to say Daniel Granger was elated when they finally returned home.

"Sure you will", retorted Emma, her expression showing she was reminiscing the very same memory. "And, finally…?"

Hermione rolled her eyes at her so hard they could almost hear the eyeballs moving.

"I'll not promise to behave in class or get good marks like some silly little kid. You know me, Mother".

Emma laughed aloud, the way her little girl pronounced "mother" setting her off. She never could find someone who could sound so snobbish as Hermione when the girl wanted to. The girl fought a grin, but lost and started to laugh along with her mother. With a pang in her heart, Hermione thought how much she would miss those moments. The toast was suddenly dry in her mouth. Emma touched her cheek affectionately, and tears sprung from her eyes. With a painful sob, Hermione latched into her, both Granger women holding each other as if their lives depended on it. The mother backed off a little, rubbing her eyes with the underside of her wrist, sniffing loudly.

"It's okay, it's okay", cooed her, patting her daughter's head. "We are going to talk a lot on the phone, and write so many letters! You know, when I was your age, we used to have pen-pals at school. Once I met a really cute boy at London and…"

Hermione let her mother's prattling about her first love wash over her, taking away some measure of pain. It would be only three months before they would be reunited again, and she could remember why she was really doing that for. The girl had promised herself she would protect her parents from this strange and dangerous world which had set its eyes on her.

Finally, Daniel Granger came down, buttoning his shirt up. He kissed the top of her head and exchanged a small peck on the lips with his wife. He opened the Sunday Times and sipped his tea mug. Disappearing behind the newspaper, he fell in a calm silence, as if it were a normal weekend. Hermione could see his fingers trembling slightly, gripping the paper with such force it was tearing it. She lowered her gaze to the dusty toast, small hot tears prickling her eyes.

**{}**

For the second time that month, the Grangers drove to London. The car was filled with strange stretches of silence followed by unnatural conversation. Emma had commented on the weather at least five times already. Hermione felt her mouth corners cramping with all the forced smiling she had been doing. She was gripping the front of her freshly-pressed jeans to the point of creating wrinkles on it. She had decided against wearing her uniform at the station. They were sure she would be able to change in the train, and Hermione really didn't want to use that thing in front of her parents again.

Two nights before, she had modelled on her uniform, for them to see. At least, in part of it. The white blouse was a simple, button-up long-sleeved one, topped with a slender feminine necktie. She could cover it with a black jumper or sweater, both made of wool, or the lighter blazer, also in black. A black pleated skirt round up the look, almost like her old school uniform had been, but with some glaring differences. First, every piece seemed unfinished, with rough edges and sloppy stitches at the trims and hems. Hermione theorised it was so because every piece would be customised when she was "sorted" into a group. From their school folders, the Grangers discovered every student was colour-coded by house, to make easier for a professor to identify their affiliation. The second fault, in their eyes, of the uniform was the lack of footwear guidelines. Hermione was wearing comfortable trainers, and had packed two pairs of Mary Janes, the same ones she had used at her former school. The final problem the older Grangers knew about was the skirt length. It was unexpectedly short, stopping a just a little below mid-tight. Her old uniform would cover her to her knees. While it didn't showed so much, if she grew a little during the year, as she was bound to do, it would be scandalous in no time. Hermione had appealed with a cock-and-bull story about different uniforms for younger and older girls. She was 12, after all, while most of her class —- she had theorised —- would be eleven.

But she had an inkling about why the skirt was so short. She had hid it from her parents, but there was an extra piece of clothing, that should go under the pleats. A garter belt, of all things.

In fact, it wasn't a real garter, Hermione discovered. While there were stockings packed in her trunk, the thing wasn't made to hold them up, as there was no hooks. Also, instead of the silky material she would expect from her mother's Victoria's Secret catalogues, the garter was made of something akin to fake leather or hard rubber. It was tied at the waist, two strips on each leg, at the front and the back, going down her thighs for four inches. They were tied to a small regulated band per leg, like two smaller belts. After tying the garter around her waist, she would tie each belt around her thighs, holding it in place. The pleated skirt covered it completely, but any overextended movement would expose the thigh belts. Hermione had no idea about the purpose of such piece of clothing, and feared it would serve some lewd role. Nonetheless, she had packed the three pairs in her trunk.

Finally, Daniel parked the car somewhere near King's Cross, and Hermione unfastened her seat belt. With Emma's help, Dan hauled the wooden trunk from the boot, and settled it on the pavement. They locked the car and walked into the station, her father towing the huge casket behind him. Emma fetched a small ticket from her purse, as Hermione couldn't be trusted with such a fragile piece that day.

"Platform 9", announced her, directing the small family to the correct place. The station was bustling with activity, people from all ages running around like headless chickens. A man in a suit almost crashed with Emma, while a squat plump redhead woman chased a pair of boys with a crooked umbrella in her hand. An old man begged for coins near the gate, and Daniel held her hand protectively when they passed him by.

When they laid their eyes on the platform, Hermione started doubting the thing about spies. Daniel barked a laugh, while Emma grinned.

"Well, they sure are scared of us overseeing it", commented her, pointing unnecessarily at the eye-watering red engine puffing steam at the platform. At the front, over the lead light, a golden sign proudly proclaimed  _Hogwarts Express_.

Blushing a little, Hermione noticed every single person passing by the train couldn't help but stare at it. She thanked the stars that the only teens mingling around the platform were wearing normal clothes, instead of short skirts and sexy undergarments. She eyed the small throng of parents and students, looking for the living French doll, Daphne Greengrass. When she was sure there was no perfect golden curls around, she turned back to her parents. There was still about half an hour before the train departure, but she knew they wouldn't wait. Her mother was crying again, and her father had suspicious red-rimmed eyes. Hermione swallowed a sob, and circled her parents with her short arms, pulling them together as if to shove them into her heart. Their warm, loving hands caressed her bushy mane, and they rained kisses on her. Emma was muttering about ninety days, and her father gave a wet kiss on her cheek.

"Have fun", said him. "Go to the parties, root for your school team, gossip with your roommates. And take really, really, really good care of yourself. We'll have a whole turkey just for you this Christmas".

Hermione laughed and sobbed and cried and hugged them. Then she muttered a goodbye, took her wheeled trunk and run into the train, not looking back, for she knew she wouldn't be able to go if she saw their pained faces.

**{}**

The train was packed already, and she couldn't find an empty compartment. Most of the small rooms with facing seats where full of older teenagers, or with bags and trunks inside, probably to signal a reservation. She walked from car to car, stepping carefully over the joints, while some kids around her age would run, chasing each other while yelling. Hermione rolled her eyes at that, asking herself how boys could be such children most of times. Her trunk got stuck again at some uneven piece of the floor panels, and she almost fell on her behind when she gave an almighty pull to free the wheel.

"May we help you, milady?", came a voice from the compartment to her left. The door was open and an older, redhead boy looked at her with a grin on his face. Behind him, an exact replica waved at her.

"I can't find a compartment", sighed her, trying to keep the trunk upward. It had toppled over three times already, and she cringed when she thought about how her things should be inside it. All that careful packing for nothing.

"Hey, George, I think she's a Firstie", pointed the twin from behind. George, the front twin gave her an ear-splitting grin.

"I think you're right, uglier brother of mine".

Hermione back-stepped, eyeing them frightfully. She had ample experience with older bullies, and while they usually weren't the nastier ones, they sure knew how to humiliate her. She wished she hadn't stopped there, and cursed her goddamn useless trunk.

"You don't need to be afraid, Firstie — Fred, you're scaring her", warned George. "Here, give us your trunk".

They circled her, and she retreated further, but George took her trunk from the bottom, while his twin, Fred, held it by the front. Together, they raised it from the ground and manoeuvred it by the door.

"Firsties like to be at the last car", informed Fred, puffing a little with the weight. "What in God's name you put inside this, Stonehenge?".

She gave him a slight smile.

"Some books, only", the girl said, following them. "I'm Hermione, by the way".

"Well, hello Hermione-By-the-Way, I'm George", said Fred.

"And I'm Fred", completed George. She furrowed her brow at it.

"You guys are trying to pull my leg?", accused the younger girl. "You called him George, before".

"I think she is too smart for us, George", said Fred. "At least for you, dumber brother of mine".

"You are the dumber brother!", rebutted him. "I'm the handsome brother".

"I'm sure I'm the handsome brother!", he raised his eyebrows at her. "Don't you reckon?"

Hermione just laughed at their antics, while they discussed which were their qualities. They seemed nice, something she would be hard pressed to accuse any of her former classmates of. Suddenly they stopped in front of a compartment door, and looked inside.

"Here we are, your very own kingdom, milady", said one of them. They had shifted around at the last door and she couldn't tell one from the other anymore. Hermione took a peek inside the compartment and frowned.

"There is someone there already".

"He's sleeping, I think. Well, our daily good deed is done. See you at Hogwarts, Firstie!".

They disappeared faster than she could blink, and left her alone with a sleeping person in the last compartment of the last car. She was preparing to backtrack when the train started moving, and her trunk hit her painfully at the leg. With no other option, she entered the small room and sled the door closed.

There was an overhead rack to stow her trunk, but she couldn't raise that behemoth above her head, so she sled it under the seat instead. She glanced at her companion before taking the trunk out again, pulling a book from it and closing and stowing it. Hermione took the seat at the window and watched the London skyline as the train steadily increased speed, to the point almost everything was a blur. The low rumble under her feet was comforting, and not a little drowsing, so she couldn't blame her compartment-mate for sleeping so soundly.

He was a boy, she could gather from his heavy army boots. Anything else was covered by a black leather jacket messily tossed over his torso and face. He seemed to be sleeping with his arms crossed over his chest, for she couldn't see even an inch of skin. He was taller than her, but small enough to be around her age. Maybe he was a "Firstie" like her, as the older Twins hadn't recognised him.

Getting the boy out of her mind, Hermione shifted around the bench, her legs over the armrest and her back propped against the train wall, she cracked open her English Literature book and started to read it once again. She had already read that book two times, as she had done with all her schoolbooks. They were pretty advanced, and the girl couldn't bear the thought of falling behind her class. The difficulty just made the challenge sweeter.

But the real wonder were her  _other_  books, the one she would use for the  _hitman_  classes. One was about self-defence, and the introductory chapters were a delight to read, but as it progressed into forms and falls and punches it had become too difficult to follow, and Hermione couldn't reproduce the positions depicted in the drawings. The Cryptography book was a surprise, and she had tried some of the cyphers presented. They made her feel like a real spy.

The  _First Aid_   _Procedures_  book was very similar to her parents' medical books, and didn't look so advanced. There were many chapters about dealing with poisoning and a gruesome illustrated one depicting the best way to stitch up a wound. The massive tome about basic electronics was great, if a little too dry, and then the three heavy books on general culture, music and etiquette were really strange. She couldn't pinpoint the need to study piano and the proper order to eat shark at a agent school.

But the real delight had been the poison book. It was really fascinating, even if she had been scared to death of most of the drawings showing poisoning effects. There were formulae to the basic components of each of the 36 poisons presented, with entire recipes to most of them. She had almost fainted when she had realised those recipes needed most of the ingredients in her chemistry kit, bar for the main ones, vital to create each solution.

Hermione really wanted to read that book again, but was a little scared to show it after so much time hiding them inside other books or reading in the dead of night, using a small flashlight under her duvet. She stuck to the literature text and let her mind dive into the familiar black letters.

Some time latter, a man wearing uniform knocked on the door and asked for her ticket. He punched a hole through it before giving it back, and pointed at the boy still sleeping.

"Your friend?", asked him, but when Hermione denied, he shrugged. "He seems to be on the deep, let him be for now. But if when I come back this evening he isn't up or have a ticket, I'll toss him through the window".

He wasn't smiling when he said it. She gulped and nodded, wishing her mysterious companion would wake up soon. She returned to her book, but couldn't concentrate, so Hermione reclined on her seat, propped her legs over the armrest and watched the people passing by the compartment window. The lazy lull of the train engine worked like a soft lullaby around her, and she dozed off a little bit.

Hermione was jostled from her sleep by a raspy tapping at the door glass. There was a kind plump face at the other side, waving merrily at her. The bushy-haired girl raised from her seat, rotating her shoulders to work a kink on her back from the unkind position she was sleeping in. She sled the door, to find out the plump face was accompanied by a plump body, inside a plum-coloured dress. Hermione let her gaze fall to the ground and, yes, the woman was wearing pumps. She was also pushing a little food car, topped with many foam cups.

"Do you want some food or drinks, my dear?", asked the short woman, smiling so brightly it was impossible not to smile in return. "I have meat, chicken or veggie. Black, herbal or mild tea. Soda, grape or orange juice… Tapioca pudding or icicles. Also, some sandwiches, but those are store-bought, I fear".

"Chicken, please", ordered the girl. "Do you have Coke?".

"Is Pepsi okay?".

Hermione frowned.

"I'll have orange juice, then. Do you have some kind of thermal bottle for me to keep the tea for later?".

"I'll put a lid on one of those foam cups and it'll keep your tea warm for the entire trip. Black?".

Hermione choose the herbal tea and declined the icicles. The cart lady gave her a warm packet with her lunch and a cold can of juice. While the woman filled a cup with tea, the bushy-haired girl glanced at her still asleep companion. Honestly, it was becoming a little ridiculous, how could he sleep through all that racket?

"Does your friend want anything?", asked the woman, giving her the tea. Hermione glanced again at him. "He must be really tired to sleep so deep like this".

Thinking it was probably true and feeling a little ashamed for being so judgemental against the still unknown boy, Hermione sighed and bought the cheapest sandwich the cart had, for when he woke up. Paying for her fare, she bade goodbye to the lady and closed the door again, taking her seat and opening the packet.

It didn't have much taste, like all train food, but she did had a small breakfast. Just putting the first forkful of chicken in her mouth Hermione realised how hungry she was. After wolfing down her lunch and draining her juice, she felt sleepy again. Deciding against napping, Hermione sled her trunk again from under her seat and took her uniform. After leaving the cucumber sandwich on his seat, taking care not to wake up the boy, she exited the compartment and went into the car's loo.

It was really cramped, but at least it was clean. After taking care of her ablutions, including brushing her teeth (she was the daughter of dentists, after all), the girl peeled her clothes off and quickly dressed into the black uniform. She opted by using the blazer over the blouse, and took good care in making a perfect knot with her tie. The skirt was as short as she remembered, and Hermione pulled it down her legs the most she could, even if the band of her panties was showing under the blouse. At least she wouldn't be flashing her goods every time she moved. A little overly-conscious, she fastened the strange garter belt under the skirt. The little bands wrapped around her thighs were unexpectedly easy to move with, but she wouldn't be dancing ballet using that anytime soon. It looked as if it would rip if she raised her leg too much. Socks and Mary Janes later, she exited the washroom and returned to her compartment, feeling a little disappointed when she saw the boy was still sleeping.

She had been reading a short novel and sipping on her tea when the door rudely sled open, and a blond boy sneered at her. Hermione had never seen a person so pale before, and she would be hard pressed to point a boy with such an well groomed hairdo. It looked as if he had dived head-first into pool of Vaseline, then had a cow lick his hair. She was sure not even a strand would move if she shoved his head out the train. It was a very mean thought to have, but Hermione couldn't control herself. And the way he looked at her was too similar to her old bullies for her comfort.

"I've heard Harry Potter is in the train", informed the boy, with a very whiny voice, in such a over the top pampered prince way that Hermione had to swallow hard or else she would burst laughing. "This is the last compartment, is he here?".

Harry Potter had a nice catch to it, Hermione thought absentmindedly, like a protagonist in an adventure book. It would be nice if her mysterious companion had a name like that, but she decided this blond was very annoying, so she just shrugged. The boy's sneer became even more prominent. He stepped into the compartment, and Hermione saw two other boys behind him, big and bulky, with stupid round faces and hands big enough to squeeze her head in. They looked more like the boy's bodyguards than his friends.

"Lost your tongue, little girl?", taunted him. "What's your name?".

"Don't you know you sh-should give your name first?", asked Hermione. Her voice was almost hauntingly, but she stuttered at the middle, when the bodyguards stepped in too. The boy looked at her with open disgust.

"You don't know who I am?", asked him rhetorically, at least Hermione supposed so. "You must be a civilian if you don't recognise Draco Malfoy".

Hermione learnt two things with that statement. First, the word "civilian" was pejorative when one of her future classmates said it. Second, after the big red train and this boy's name, these agents were too flashy to be taking it seriously. Really? Draco? What a scam. She wanted her parent's money back.

"And don't even bother saying your name", rolled Draco on, his exaggerated sneer contorting his whole face. "Your bitchy voice grates on my nerves".

Hermione bristled at that, but a single glance from the towering bodyguards made her coil back into her seat. She felt shame reddening her face, and swallowed a pained sob. There were bullies everywhere, she realised, and now she was completely alone against them. Unconcerned with her plight, Draco got closer to the still sleeping boy.

"And you, wake up and face you betters. I sure hope you're Harry Potter, or else I'll hand you a nice beating for ignoring me", he extended his arm to grab the jacket hiding the boy.

Hermione didn't know it then, but one of her objectives for the following years would be copying that move. It was like seeing a snake lunge at an unsuspecting victim. The boy's hand flew from under the jacked and gripped the blond's wrist, pulling him forward and toppling him over the now awake boy. Mid-toppling, the boy rotated them, tossing the jacket aside, the blond's back hit the seat where his assailant was resting before, his caught hand raised pointing to the ceiling and a gun under his chin.

The young girl could finally look at her companion's face, and her first thought was that he was cute. Cursing her budding teenager hormones and blushing at her traitorous mind not accessing the situation properly, she sat frozen in place, scared out of her mind, while the cute boy threatened the blond with his weapon. She couldn't help but look at him again.

He was taller than her, that was obvious even when he was crouched over Draco. He had very strong arms for a boy his age, she could tell it because he was wearing a very snugly black T-shirt. He was also wearing the black uniform trousers and she had already seem his army boots. But his face was even cuter than his strong body: he had a shaggy mop of hair, darker than black, fashionably messed up, over a aristocratic nose, slightly thin lips and smooth cheeks, on a little bit squarish face. But the most attractive feature of his were his eyes: the greenest eyes she had ever seem, a deep forest green sharp enough to cut steel. However, for all his roguish beauty, Hermione couldn't help but to be scared of him.

First, he was pointing a gun to someone he - she supposed - never had met before. Second, his face was totally devoid of emotion. His eyes were dangerous, like of a predator, but his schooled features hid his emotions. For all of his expression, he could be strolling in the park, instead of using violence against someone who wanted to uncover him.

"And", he said, in a child voice very unsettling when he spoke in such a monotone. "Who might you be?".

Draco was paler. If that was possible. He also frantically hand-signalled to his bodyguards to stay put. His gaze was locked at the gun, even if it was below his chin, giving him what would be a very funny expression, if the situation wouldn't be so serious. He had to lick his dry lips before he could answer.

"Draco Malfoy", his voice was cracking, but it seemed as if he gained some momentum, and for the first time he looked directly at his assailant. "And if you don't release me now, my Father will hear all about it! You will be expelled and on your way home before you can say 'sorry'".

"An expulsion won't resurrect you, Malfoy", maybe was the way he said it, as if commenting the weather, that scared Hermione more than the words themselves.

"Please", she whispered, trying to be absorbed by the seat cushion. Hermione herself would be hard pressed to answer exactly what she was pleading to, but nonetheless it seemed to take effect.

The dark-haired boy stood up, his gun disappearing with a fluid movement too fast for the eyes. Draco shot up, making a break to the door. Outside, he tried to turn and glare at them, but the other boy simply closed the door at his face, turning the lock. Draco seemed to want to shout at them through the door glass, but thought better and stalked away, leading his bodyguards. The boy turned his cold gaze at Hermione.

"You know him?", asked him, his voice even as it seemed like it was the only tone he possessed. Hermione shook her head. She swallowed, and her voice was low and cracking when she expanded her answer.

"He simply barged in, searching for someone named Harry Potter", explained her. Gaining a little bit of confidence, she asked the question she wanted since he had woke up. "Are you?".

"Yes", he said, taking the seat right in front of her. He moved with a fluid grace, as if every movement was calculated. She only knew another person who walked like that.

"Are you a soldier?", the girl asked before she could even think. She blushed after that. Harry didn't show any emotion at her question.

"I've been trained as one since birth", he answered. "But I'm not affiliated to any detachment".

Hermione nodded, a little awed at it. Her father had been part of the Army for eight years. Even if he had left way before she was even born, he never stopped training, normally by running in the mornings and lifting weights in the basement. When she was little, she tried to imitate his walking style, enchanted by the fluid way he would pick her up to cuddle, or the subtle movements he would do while cooking breakfast. She never could do it properly, but Harry did.

The bushy-haired girl reached for the small bundle at her side, and offered it to him.

"Here, I bought you sandwiches. I thought you'd be hungry when you woke up", she said. He took it from her, their fingers brushing ever so lightly, but Hermione learnt his skin was very warm.

His expression was blank, but Hermione searched and found the most slightly furrow right between his eyebrows. She tentatively attached the label of  _confusion_  at this micro-expression. She tried to enlighten him a little more.

"I kind of took over your compartment without asking, so I thought about buying you lunch to make up for it", she noticed his micro-expression became a little bit lighter, and she interpreted it as he now knew the reason behind her actions, but still couldn't fully comprehend why she even bothered. The girl couldn't blame him, even she didn't know the reason.

He unwrapped the two triangles of white bread and munched slowly, his face as blank as before. The only thing Hermione could gather from it was that he had good table manners. He slightly unassembled the half-eaten sandwich and took one green slice, putting it in his mind and chewing carefully. He placed his late lunch on his lap and took a tiny battered notebook from the pocket of his jacket, along with a short pencil.

"What's the name of this?", he asked, pointing at the partially unwrapped packet.

"Well, it was a cucumber sandwich", she said, bewildered. Her eyebrows disappeared under her bushy hair when he noted down something and turned back at her, picking the food. His face still schooled.

"I don't like cucumber", he informed, taking another bite. Hermione stared at him for a moment.

"You… You just took note you don't like cucumber?", she asked, glancing furtively at the door. Could she make a run for it, before he caught her? Well, the point was moot, the girl remembered, he had a gun.

"I'm writing a list of things I don't like", he said, finishing the first sandwich and starting on the other. "My Commander instructed me that being picky with food would be beneficial".

"And you never had cucumber before?", she almost let slide the insane comment about a soldier ordering a boy to be picky. It was too asinine for her to completely comprehend at that moment.

"I was raised in Australia", he said. "At a very small base. We didn't have many food options".

"You don't have an Australian accent", Hermione baited him, trying to pry more information about this strange Harry Potter boy. He stared blankly at her, finishing his food and turning the plastic wrapping into a tight ball, promptly shoving it in his pocket.

"It must have been difficult to acclimate with the weather when you returned", she tried again, but he just continued to stare at her. The girl was becoming unnerved.

"So", she sighed. "If you have a list of things you don't like, what's on the list of things you like?".

Harry took the notebook from his pocket again, and opened it. His head was pending to the left by a fraction of millimetre, something Hermione conjectured was a sign of deep thinking.

"I decided not to write down things I merely don't have feelings against", it was very hard to attach the word "feelings" to Harry Potter, for all his blank expressions and monotone showed. "So I just noted the things I really like. And for now I have… Treacle Tart".

"Treacle Tart", parroted Hermione, too out of her league to be concerned anymore. "Never had it, myself. Is it really that good?".

"I only ate it once, at the farewell party back at the base. Not too sweet, but not too sour. I hope we have it tonight at the Feast".

He didn't sound as if he was hoping for something. He said it at the same tone he had threatened Malfoy before - i.e. no tone at all. Hermione caught something interesting from his last line.

"There will be a Feast?", the folder said nothing about that night, except she would be "sorted" into a Group. She was hoping for a hearty dinner, but a real Feast?

"Hogwarts offers a Welcome Feast on the first night, a Halloween Feast, an Yule Feast on the 25th, the Easter Feast and the End-of-Team Feast, uniforms are obligatory during attendance", rattled him, still monotone. "Speaking of it, I need to change".

Hermione saw him stand up, and thought about offering him help to take his trunk from the overhead rack, but Harry simply held the strap and manoeuvred it down, the muscles of his arms bulging and moving under the skin. Hermione felt a blush covering her cheeks. He took a shirt, necktie and blazer from it. Then, he promptly took his T-shirt off.

The girl made a little "eep" sound, but he paid her no mind. He had the most delicious abs an eleven-year-old boy could - shouldn't! - have. He had a fine scar from right above his heart running down to a few inches to the left of his navel. When he turned to button up the shirt and take the tie, she glanced at his very muscular back, with wide shoulders. Most of Hermione's mind was in overdrive, shouting at how completely inappropriate it was for a boy to change in front of a girl, and how she should get the hell out of that compartment. A tiny portion of her brain, however, was very pleased to note down the sudden discovery that  _Hermione digs muscles_.

When she recovered from her stupor, it was dark outside, and the train seemed to be reducing the speed. Hermione remembered something she had wanted to ask him since the altercation with the Malfoy boy.

"Harry", she called, and saw he was placing his trunk besides his seat. She recalled the letter instructed her to leave her things in the compartment. The staff would pick everything up and place at her dorm. "Were you faking to sleep when Malfoy approached you?".

"I felt his presence near me and I woke up when he extended his arm", he told her. She frowned.

"And why didn't you feel my own presence when I entered the compartment, or when I placed the sandwiches near you before I went out to change?".

He looked blankly at her, and she thought he would once again refuse to answer.

"In 1859, Thomas Austin released 24 rabbits in Australia. After an year, there were more than one million rabbits there. Do you know why?".

She was dazed by the  _non sequitur_ , but answered to her best nonetheless.

"Lack of predators, abundance of food and fast reproduction rates?".

"In part", Harry conceded. "But Australia is full of predators and very unforgiving. No, the rabbits could reproduce so much because they were very small, unassuming and easily forgotten for their harmlessness".

"And how does this answer my question?".

Harry's mouth raised slightly upward. She was floored by the feeling that that was his way of smirking.

"Your presence revels you are more harmless than those rabbits".

The train stopped, and Harry sled the door open, going through it. Bewildered, offended, perturbed and surprised, Hermione followed after him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those that are unfamilliar with the concept, these {} signal a scene break. I tried many forms to signal it, but FFNet would strip them when I posted, so I settled for curly brackets. 
> 
> This chapter is the last one already posted in FFNet, with this both stories are in sync. The next chapter, called The Sorting, comes later today or tomorrow, as soon as I finish my day job. As you can gather until now, both FFNet and AO3 have the very same story. I know some people like to post a 'stripped' version in FFNet, and a more raunchy full version here, but I'm following the strict FFNet rating principles, and I also don't want to turn this story into a smut. Don't fool yourself, I love smut, but this is not that kind of story.
> 
> Until next chapter! :D

**Author's Note:**

> English is not my mother language. I'm a Brazilian guy with barely no knowledge on formal English, most of what I know comes from books, songs and video-games. So I would like to ask anybody who has a good grasp of English and who wants to improve this story to become my Beta! Please, PM me if you're interested!
> 
> This is my first ever fanfic in English, so expect some gross mistakes. Also, I'm still trying out the pacing of the story, if you found it too boring or slow, or the language to childish, please let me know in the reviews!
> 
> I promise to answer each review in the following chapter, and a new chapter every week or so, as writing in English comes to me more slowly than when I'm writing fanfic in Portuguese.
> 
> Also, just to get some info about this story: this a strictly non-magical AU world, where Hogwarts is quite unlike from J.K.'s world. So, expect differences in settings, classes, personalities and history facts. This is also a strictly Harry/Hermione story, even if it will develop quite slowly at first, as they are (respectively) 11 and 12.
> 
> This story also follows J.K.'s pattern of "one book = one school year". This is why I called it a Series. I still don't know if I want to write 7 or just 5 books, but I have a lot of story to tell, and as this is the most AU world I've ever wrote in yet, probably I'll stick with the 7 book format.


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